


In the Darkness of Sin

by lysanatt



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Animagus Bestiality, Explicit Bestiality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only through pain Snape finds he can relieve his guilt. Remus hopes every time will be the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Darkness of Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: explicit bestiality

The darkness surrounds him like a heavy cloak, blackness against his black robe, a darkness that matches his mind's light-less chambers. Inside his mind, deep shadows of fear and anger roar against his coherent thoughts, goading him, luring him. _Run_ , they whisper. _Run_!

Every inch of his skin is crawling, a cold carpet of fear, his body almost frozen. He is trying to see through darkness, through the paralysing nothingness that blinds him.

There is a sound. A sharp click of a claw against stone. Then silence.

Suddenly it is too late. Everything is too late.

The beast is over him before he can react, and the spell he casts is sticking as half-eaten food in his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He fights in a flurry of fur and smell of wet dog and stinking breath (little drops of spit and drool landing on his skin; like acid, scorching him with his own fear and hate and disgust). His hands flail over the granite floor, as if they just by determination can detect the wand he lost.

His fighting spirit disappears, drowning in a dark growling: a menacing sound that washes over him like a flood of fear, barely covering the desperate lust that wells up inside him. The disgusting beast closes its jaws around his neck, threatening to crush his throat. Little white pinpoints of razor-sharp teeth slide over his pale skin: a significant reminder of the danger he is in, of how close he is to contamination if he doesn't submit to the beast.

He knows how this goes, how to still the beast's hunger.

Slowly, as if not to provoke the furry monster that hovers above him, he opens his trousers, pushing them down around his knees. They pool as a black sea surrounding his thin legs, sticking up as naked twigs fallen into the water. His movements are leaden as he reaches for his wand in the darkness, the wolf snarling a warning against his skin, notes of saliva and carnivorous possession ringing in his ears. Whispering a spell (words hovering in the darkness), he branches himself for what he knows will come.

He knows how this goes, how to let the beast feed.

Reaching back, shuddering as lukewarm liquid leaking from the beast's sheath dribbles over his back , he spreads his cheeks, presses his brow against the cold tiles, as if to ground himself, listening to the beat of the earth, ignoring the pulsing warmth splashing over his skin as the wolf lets go of his neck. It mounts him from behind, pushing him down, scratching him: fur and claws slide over his black coat, doing no harm but to hold him down, disarming him with weight and growling threats.

For a moment there is nothing but the eternal blind darkness, the beast's panting, the anticipation.

He knows how this goes, and he cries out almost before the throbbing cock is inside him.

The beasts pistons into him (fucking him even before it is fully inside) with a carelessness that makes him able to let go of all his pent up feelings. He relishes the shame and the unnatural actions; being taken by a monster, feeling its large knot widen him to the limit of impossible. He relishes the sensation of thin liquid being spurted in his channel, running down his legs like little rivers of disgust.

It feels so fucking dirty and he needs it. Merlin, how he needs it!

This is the only time he can let go. His body sings of sadness and sin and of desire; only the overwhelming pain sorts his feelings out and place them neatly in little boxes labelled 'unimportant'. The pain leaves nothing inside him but freedom, freedom from anything he has ever done, anything he will ever do.

In pain Severus Snape finds his release.

He enters into it alone. The beast hammering into him doesn't matter, only the long, thin cock, thrusting redemption and release into him, holds any meaning. The beast matters not; only the merging of needs is important this instant: his need, the need of the wolf; braiding into a strange closeness between them.

The pain he finds lets him forget the hidden feelings he carries around. Speared on the beast's cock, the sick pleasure he is allowed makes him cry and sob and beg. He creates a sacrifice of them, laid down on an altar of pain. He comes hard, untouched, as the wolf thrust into him one last time before it grunts, holds still and connects them both (inseparable now) as the beast's knot grows inside him. It is torture, but he wants it, wants the pain, the wolf's possessive jaws, marking him, telling him he cannot escape: he belongs to the wolf.

That, Severus Snape can accept, and he gives in, sobbing Remus' name, forgetting about the beast and the punishment.

 

The morning is sunny and bright, light sends white fingers inside the dungeon; pale hands to wake up sleeping wizards. Remus is always the first to wake. He relishes the minutes before his altered breathing pattern and his low groans wakes Severus up, just as he relishes the soft look on his lover's face; the look he has after Moony has been particularly brutal. Remus wishes it could be different, that Severus did not need the beast. Remus slowly wraps an arm around the man he loves, hoping that this time will be the last, that Severus has punished himself enough. Probably not. Nothing was ever easy with Severus Snape.

Remus sighs deeply and the movement wakes his lover up. Remus defies his own pain, the pain from stretched muscles and transformed bones, to move so he can watch Severus. 'Good morning, love,' he whispers softly.

Severus opens his eyes, and for a moment there is an expression of gratitude and a deep, deep love in them. 'Thank you,' Severus murmurs, reaching for Remus, able to, at least for a few moments, to express what he feels for him.

This is what makes it worth it. Severus' tenderness and the few moments Remus sees his lover without the blindfold of guilt and penitence. One day he will make Severus put it away. One day soon.

Soon.


End file.
